


Primal State Of Being

by catteo



Category: Savages (2012), Savages - All Media Types, Savages Series - Don Winslow
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about beginnings and endings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>(And thoughts come to mind</i><br/><i>that our short little lives</i><br/><i>haven't left the path that they will tread)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Primal State Of Being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waltzmatildah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/gifts).



1

Fucking beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

2

That’s what I think of this place.

 

 

The sun hangs low in the sky, draping itself across the horizon, and heat slides across supple limbs like the gentle caress of a lover. A deep breath in and it fills my lungs, lacing my breath with hope. Golden-red kisses a path along skin and languid warmth blossoms in my bones. The ocean whispers the promise of a future, endless possibilities that _dance_ in the air.

 

 

We’re six months and half a world away from my nightmares. Sometimes I forget that we all left scattered pieces of ourselves strewn across burning sand.

 

 

Sometimes I can’t.

Those nights they find me shuddering at the edge of the ocean, murmur nonsense to me and cocoon me in strong arms.

 

 

They’re here now, _my_ missing fragments, all of our broken parts somehow making a cohesive whole.  Once upon a time we allowed spaces between us but I prefer it this way.

Endless flesh.

Pressed against flesh.

Against flesh.

The three of us wear our pasts tattooed like fingerprints on our skin, invisible threads that bind us together.

 

 

They tangle their fingers with mine, anchor me to them. They belong to me and I to them.

 

 

Ben and Chon. Chon and Ben.

_My boys._

 

 

 

 

3

Just because you find yourself at the start of _this_ story doesn’t mean it’s the beginning.

 

 

My name is Ophelia. You should know that I prefer O.

A name with potential.

An exclamation of joy.

The sharp pain of regret.

A whisper branding the skin of a lover.

 

 

But that’s not all there is. To understand me, you need to know them.

 

 

They _are_ my story.

 

 

 

 

 

4

Chon is softer now, fewer sharp angles, as though his dead have at long last been laid to rest, and he finally believes in something yet to come. His hair has grown out, silk under my palms, and there are no longer ghosts haunting the edges of his smile.  

 

 

His hands dance along my ribs, fitting perfectly into the hollows there. Warmth blooms, blood rising in answer to his touch. I hook an ankle behind Chon’s knee and pull him closer, sweat-slick bodies sliding together, guiding him home.

 

 

Ben’s teeth nip at the soft expanse of skin under my jaw and I feel electricity jolt down my spine; gaze through heavy-lidded eyes as one of his arms wraps gently around my waist and the other holds Chon close.

 

 

Chon still holds me as though I might slip, like water, through his fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

5

O met Ben in the rain on a Tuesday in the middle of August.

 

 

Chon never believes this part of the story. He says it doesn’t rain in southern California in the summer.

 

 

He’s wrong.

 

 

Paqu forgot to collect O from the beach, too busy looking for Six and the meaning of life.

(It took her two years and three cup sizes to work her way from Two through to Five.

_Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see my surgeon darling?  Your face is so pretty._

O doesn’t want to be fake. She wants to feel it when her too real flesh and bone is branded with teeth and lips. Paqu’s forgotten what it’s like to be real.

Some days O pities her.)

 

 

O sat on a bench watching the rain stain her skin and her dress turn from rose pink to blood red and see-through. Goose bumps sprang up along her arms, nipples standing out hard against translucent fabric.

 

 

Never one for modesty, our O.

 

 

Ben thinks it was fate that he found her there.

 

 

O: little girl lost.

Ben: her hero.

 

 

He’s not wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

6

EXT. BEACH PARKING LOT – AFTERNOON 

 

Two SURFER DUDES jostle each other as they walk past O, sitting on a bench. Her hair is DOWN and TRACKS OF MASCARA chase down her cheeks. One dude WOLF-WHISTLES. O doesn’t even look up, just continues tracing circles through the water on her RIGHT THIGH.

 

BEN rounds the corner, T-shirt plastered to his skin. He takes in the scene, a near DESERTED parking lot and a blonde sitting alone with her back to THE OCEAN

 

BEN

Hey, are you okay? Do you need anything?

 

O

A mother who gives a fuck would be nice.

 

BEN

(wryly)

I’ve got one of those. They’re more like hard work than you’d think.

 

O SMILES slowly. It takes BEN’S breath away.

 

 

Ben took O’s hand moments later, water spilling down their arms, binding them together as surely as knotted rope. He led her to the beach and they watched lightning dance across the sky for hours. Ben kissed O as though she was precious and she felt thunder dancing in her veins.

 

 

 

 

 

7

Ben still kisses me as though I might break.

 

 

 

 

 

8

Chon’s lips are soft as he presses them to my collarbone, the hollow at my throat, my right breast. My breath comes faster as Ben’s fingers tangle in my hair and his mouth traces poetry across my stomach. I slide a hand across skin, history written there in the scars under my fingertips.

 

 

Chon’s fingers push up inside me and

bright white light

_flares_

behind closed eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

9

O first kissed Chon in the ocean at sunset.

 

 

Ben thinks that would be difficult, but he wasn’t there and he’s not the only hero in this piece.

 

 

By this stage O and Ben were fucking regularly, but not exclusively. Neither of them knew how to say it, but they both felt as though something was missing. Chon turned up on the doorstep one day, fresh from I-Rock-And-Roll, smelling of the desert, acrid burning oil and opportunity.

 

 

O thought that Chon looked like one of those statues she’d seen in the books on Paqu’s coffee table. Those books you’re supposed to have on display when you’re SoCal royalty.

(A symbol of how _fanfuckingtastic_ and well-off you are.

Books that cost a fucking fortune and never get read. Four was fond of the books.

More so of the girl he bought them from who sucked him off for the favour.

Four was a dick.)

 

 

Not a _real boy_ any more, Chon seemed sculpted of marble as he stood in the doorway and drank them in with eyes that had seen too much. O thought he would feel like cold, hard stone under her touch, but blazing heat sparked where they made contact and O smiled as she recognised the missing part of the puzzle.

 

 

O went out surfing one day.

(don’t be surprised, girl practically grew up in the sea)

Found Chon lying on his board waaaay _way_ out the back. He had one arm thrown across his eyes and she could see a jagged line of puckered flesh that formed a perfect semi-circle along his side. It was just the two of them and the swell gently rocking their boards and O slipped into the cool, inky blue, closed the distance to Chon’s side with a single kick.

 

 

She reached out with one finger and traced scar tissue, fascinated by the way that Chon’s breath hitched in his throat at her touch. O could see the pulse in his neck racing double-time, feel her own heart beat take flight as he dropped his arm and looked at her.

 

 

(Chon and O practically grew up together but he never seemed to need her before. O likes to feel needed.)

 

 

And that’s how O found herself half in and half out of the water, like a golden sea nymph, one arm slung around Chon’s shoulders. He tasted of saltwater and blazing heat, callused hands firm at the small of her back.

 

 

They fucked on the beach in the dark and O still remembers how his rage stole her breath.

 

 

 

 

 

10

Ben found us lying entwined on the sand at dawn and I can still see his smile as he sat and took my hand. That was the moment we became family.

 

 

 

 

 

11

Chon licks slowly up the inside of my thigh, expert hands opening me up before his tongue finds the spot that makes me see stars. Ben whispers my name and steals my breath. They surround me and they’re inside me and it’s Ben, _gentle Ben_ , that holds us both hard enough to bruise.

 

 

We lie with our tangled limbs and I don’t know any more where one of us ends and the others begin. I think that’s how we were meant to be.

 

 

We’ve all got blood on our hands now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt to merge the styles of both the 2012 movie and the book. Hopefully it's somewhat successful. I have no familiarity with the prequel, Kings of Cool, and therefore I can only apologise for any glaring canon inaccuracies. 
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
